When I was 14,
I conjured up this image of a man.
He was tall enough to make me feel secure. Well, the 14 year old me loved latching on to the idea that men were the beings we depended on for security.
A man who could listen to me talk and rant endlessly about the books I liked and the ones I did not. That's just because the 14 year old me thought that men who actually listened to what women said, were rare.
A man who wouldn't deem me an emotional fool each time I cried when a rom-com ended.
A man who wouldn't call me a child, each time I went crazy in a bookstore, overwhelmed with glee.
A man who didn't really mind if I spent an entire day in my pyjamas just because I wanted to. Because you know, I didn't know back then that that women could dress up solely for themselves and not just for a man.
Four years later, I wonder why did I even bother conjuring up an image of a man. Why did I think a man was enough to make me feel happy and complete? Why was the 14 year old me so hell bent on ending up with a man as if it were the ultimate goal? // Letters to my younger self\\ -Dingyzone 🌿
Art by @sitarah_k
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